Masked Man
by poohblaze
Summary: Post Never My Love. A conversation on the couch.


Masked Man

By poohblaze

Author's Notes: This is Post Never My Love. It's short and talky and contains no exciting car chases, darn it. A huge thank you to Owlcroft for being a great beta and making it much better. The woman knows her hyphens!

Mark sank onto the couch and let the party buzz around him. He was peripherally aware of the Judge sending him occasional glances. Not quite worried glances, more like appraising. Like he was touching bases. He supposed the Judge was hoping he'd walk things off and start mingling. Go forth and be charming. 'These are good people for you to know, kiddo.' But he really didn't feel up to it at the moment. Maybe he deserved a little slack. It's not every day a guy gets nearly toasted to death and then subsequently dumped by his fellow Poptart. For Clayton Pasternack.

Mark ran his fingers through his hair. Not that he thought he was every girl's dream guy or anything, but geez. Clayton Pasternack. People in weird costumes milled around him. He suddenly felt the cushions next to him sink and dropped his hands back to his sides. A small woman with curly brown hair was sitting next to him. She wore no mask, but was clad in something black and flowing, and disturbingly judicial looking. Mark sighed silently and held out a hand. "Hi. Mark McCormick."

She smiled up at him, a gleam in her eyes. "I know." She took his hand, but instead of shaking it, she pulled it towards her and turned it palm up. "I am Madam Laika, gypsy fortune teller. I'm afraid I've run out of business cards."

Mark blinked and started to smile. "Do I cross your palm with silver?"

"That is not necessary. But sometime maybe you can change my oil. Now then," she bent her head and started studying his palm. "You have a strong love line. I like that in a man."

Mark snorted. "Does it say anything about my being a complete chump?"

She gave his hand a slight tug. "Hush. This takes concentration. You like cold spaghetti. And donuts. But not the messy kind with the filling because then you'd probably have to do laundry. Give me your other hand to compare."

Mark gave her a bemused smile and obediently presented his other hand. "Ah," she ran a finger along his palm, tracing patterns. "This line tells me your future. You will go on a long ocean voyage. You will be attacked by pirates. Thinking quickly, you will disguise yourself as a life preserver and make your escape. You will wind up on a tropical island populated only by Amazons. They will make you pizza. You will father a race of curly-haired Amazons who don't pick up after themselves. The end

Mark grinned and leaned towards her. "One question. Can I take you with me?"

She looked up at him and waggled her eyebrows. "You bet. I'll clear my calendar."

Mark pulled back in mock dismay. "Oh no. You're a judge."

"Is that a deal breaker?"

Mark shook his head sadly. "It'll never work. Things will go along fine and then one day you'll up and throw me in prison. It's my way with judges."

She laughed and held out her hand and they shook properly. "Mattie Groves."

Mark nodded. "Judge Groves."

"Mattie. You're not before me."

"Yet."

She laughed again and gently patted his cheek. "Let's just keep it that way, okay?"

Mark gave her slightly rueful smile and echoed her earlier words, "you bet."

She briefly searched his face and then gave a quick nod. "Scoot over," she said and pulled her feet up to settle in sideways on the couch. Mark began to suspect that she had been sicced on him. "So who was the girl?"

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Tell me you don't know."

She looked at him and then laughed self-consciously. "Caught in the act."

"How do you plead?"

Mattie lifted her right hand and put on an angelic expression. "Not guilty by reason of friendly persuasion." She dropped her hand. "Honestly, Mark, Milt didn't say anything, but you can't miss the looks he keeps sending you."

Mark scanned the room. It was filled with old men in spandex. Honestly. And they put him in prison. He finally spotted the Judge standing next to Superman and a rather senior-looking punk rocker. The Judge wasn't quite looking at him, but Mark was certainly in his line of sight. He turned back to Mattie. "Ah, sorry. Didn't mean to suck the fun out of the room. Just been a long day, you know?"

"So I heard. Did you really almost get cremated?"

Mark rubbed his nose. "Ah, yeah." He shrugged and tried for cavalier. "These things happen.

"To James Bond maybe. Seriously, you should be a little more careful. It took forever for Milt to find you."

Mark gave her a startled look but she just shrugged, wearing an enigmatic Madam Laika look. Mark looked away and swallowed. Mattie watched him silently for a moment and then said lightly. "So who was that girl?"

"Girl? Oh. Cindy. Old girlfriend."

"Ah."

Mark shifted and drew his own feet up on the couch. This was strictly forbidden but at least he had an accomplice. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

Mattie shrugged. "You can ask." Enigmatic again. She was good at it. Must be something mothers teach their daughters.

Good enough though. Mark plunged ahead. "What is it with girls anyway? I mean, I used to hear that they all liked the bad boys. The dangerous ones." He gestured at himself and said indignantly, "I'm bad. I'm dangerous." Mattie's eyes twinkled at him. She said nothing. Mark ducked his head. "Okay, okay. But compared to Clayton Pasternack I'm dangerous. I'm freaking James Dean compared to Clayton Pasternack."

"Clayton Pasternack?"

"The other guy. With Cindy. The other guy."

"Ah. The not dangerous good boy."

"Yeah. I mean I knew the guy. He's boring. He's so boring you'd have to invent, like, new levels of boring to describe him." Mark looked distractedly around the room again and once more saw Hardcastle, still with the same group. "He's…. he's like Clark Kent boring."

"Oh," Mattie said dubiously. "Well, there's nothing wrong with boring." Mattie didn't sound at all convinced.

"Are you kidding? Did you even see _Superman_?"

Mattie thought for a moment. "Well," she mused, "maybe Clayton Pasternack is just his secret identity. When no one's watching, he ducks into a phone booth."

Mark gave an involuntary chuckle at the image. "Nah. Remember, I know the guy. He's one of those people who _is_ his secret identity."

Mattie shook her head in feigned sorrow. "Such a waste. Somewhere a pair of tights lies empty."

Mark's grin widened at the thought of Clayton Pasternack climbing into a super suit. A small, imaginary revenge but an enjoyable one.

Mattie tapped his knee. "So what about you?"

"What?"

"Well, apparently you came to this party in your secret identity. No costume. So who are you when you're not being boring Mark McCormick?"

Mark looked down at himself. He was wearing khakis and a shirt he'd just tossed on. What all the best would-be corpses were wearing. "Hey, this _is_ my costume. I came as an ex-race car driver turned car thief."

Mattie gave his thigh a light slap. "If you're in my court room, you better make that the other way around."

"Sorry. I meant I came as Mark McCormick, ex-car thief and race car driver. Also pool boy, yard man, gutter cleaner, and all around whipping boy."

"That's more like it. Now," she tapped his thigh again. "Answer the question."

"Boy, you _are_ a judge."

"Come on, give. Now that I know your secret identity, I want to know your other half. Who are you?"

"I'm Tonto." He said it without thought.

The words hung there. Mattie leaned back and studied him. She had kind eyes. And deep laugh lines. Her hair was curlier than his. When she spoke the teasing lilt was gone from her voice. "It really did take him a long time to find you. We were all getting a little worried."

Mark nodded, his face mirroring her sudden seriousness. He looked over at the Judge again. This time his back was towards them. Apparently Mattie could be trusted with him. "I know. Sometimes I think he doesn't really see how dangerous things can get. Like he really does think he's the Lone Ranger."

Mattie's eyes followed Mark's to Hardcastle. "That's not entirely what I meant," she murmured.

Mark didn't hear her. "Did you ever read those comics?" He asked suddenly. "The Lone Ranger comics?"

"Uh, no. I can't say that I have."

"I read some," Mark said quietly. "They were just kind of lying around. I never knew all that much about the Lone Ranger, you know. I mean, I knew who he was and about the horse and the bullets and all, but I'd never seen the TV show or anything."

Mattie listened silently.

"See, the thing is the Lone Ranger doesn't have a secret identity. Did you know that? He never takes off the mask. He's Mr. Justice, Mr. Law and Order all the time. _All_ the time."

Mattie pursed her lips, her eyes still on Hardcastle. "I guess I didn't know that."

"Yeah," Mark replied and added insistently, "see and that can get dangerous, you know? Going full blast like that all the time. That's why he needs a Tonto. He needs someone to watch out for him."

Mattie tilted her head thoughtfully. Milt was refilling a glass of punch. As he turned his body, she saw him glance their way. "That's sad," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"That would be sad. If the Lone Ranger didn't have a secret identity. I mean if he were only the Lone Ranger. If he only kept Tonto around because he was, I don't know, good with knives or something."

"Sad?" Mark repeated, trying to follow.

Mattie nodded. "Yeah." She focused back on Mark and said firmly, "So I don't think it's true. See, I think he does have a secret identity. I think the mask does come off. Maybe not many people get to see that, but it happens. I think he takes off his mask around the campfire and he and Tonto play pinochle all night."

Mark just stared at her. Pinochle. He shook his head in bewilderment. "First Clayton Pasternack and now the Lone Ranger. What is it with girls and secret identities?"

She elbowed him in the ribs. "That's Judge Girl to you, handsome."

Mark grinned and Mattie looked up as Milt headed towards them, carefully carrying three glasses of punch. He gave one to Mattie and passed another to McCormick, quickly looking him up and down as he did so. Mattie nodded a welcome. "Here's our masked man now."

Hardcastle gave her a confused look. He was dressed like an old time naval officer. "I'm not wearing a mask."

Mattie smiled slyly up at him. "I know."

END


End file.
